Bridge to a Distant Star (6 page)

“Quite frankly, I don’t think it’s time yet to search for the good in this mess. Because there’s not one thing good about this!” A pained look covered Sherry’s features, telltale remnants of her own past. “And if God really is
God,
then I wish he would skip the heartbreaking life lessons for the children’s sake, and stop Ed in his tracks right now.”

Maureen instinctively jerked backward. And then she looked to Emilie, fully expecting her to vehemently disagree. Yet Maureen watched in absolute amazement as Emilie nodded her head, and then added, “Oh, Sherry. That’s exactly what my heart has been crying out. That God would … be God. And do something!”

Never before had Maureen heard any of these friends express such caustic cynicism, such blatant anger at God.
Wasn’t that blasphemy?
she asked herself, realizing that she was nearly frozen in fear, waiting for …
What?
Am I expecting God to strike us dead?

“I think we need to let go of … I don’t know … searching for reasonable answers for any of it,” Vanessa said. “This is horrible, Em. And no amount of fanciful rationalizing of God’s part in this will ever make one bit of it acceptable. And it won’t make sense simply because we interpret this as ‘God’s will,’ the wonderful catchall that every one of us”—Vanessa looked from Maureen to Sherry and then to Emilie again as she emphasized her words—“has used way too often in the past.”

Vanessa had spoken in such a rush that she had to pause to catch her breath. “Emilie’s hurting, and you know what? I think we should just … hurt with her.” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared into Emilie’s equally tear-filled eyes. “No explanations or answers. Just love. Loving her the best we can, in the way that she needs us most.”

Sherry took charge then, as she usually did whenever a decision for the entire group needed to be made. “I’m guessing that no one feels much like eating, am I right? But Emilie, you don’t want to leave yet, either.” Emilie firmly shook her head, and Sherry continued, “Then how about if we order just soup and some of their breads? Good idea?” Relieved nods all around. “Okay. That solves the dilemma of eating versus not eating.”

The server returned then, delivering drinks and taking their orders. Once she’d left again, Vanessa, Sherry, and Maureen turned their attention back to their friend.

“Do you want to tell us more details about what Ed said?” Sherry asked, gently probing.

Emilie stared down at the table rather than meet anyone’s eyes. “I think I need to tell you. Get some … perspective, I guess. I keep thinking this can’t be happening to me. It can’t be real and I’ll wake up.” She sniffed and wiped at her nose with the pathetic-looking tissue.

“I heard the garage door opening, heard him coming in, felt surprise and yet delight that he was there. Assumed he’d forgotten something.” She shook her head slightly, chagrined at her eagerness to see him. “Then when I saw his face, at first he scared me.” She looked up momentarily, the emotions of genuine concern and fear reflected still, mirroring the past. “I thought something was wrong, so I went to run into his arms and—” Emilie’s voice faltered. “He put out his hand to stop me.” Again she paused, struggling to regain her composure. “I was really bewildered at that point. Started asking him if he was okay, if he was sick, maybe had the flu or something and didn’t want me near him to catch it. And suddenly something about the look on his face—the fact that he wouldn’t or couldn’t look at me.” Emilie put her head in her hands. “As blind as I’ve been for … weeks now … in that moment I just knew.” She looked up, and a single tear ran down each cheek. “What a naive idiot I’ve been.”

Sherry spat out, “Emilie, you trusted him. It’s ingrained to trust our husbands.”

“How did you find out who she is?” From Vanessa. There was no need to explain the who.

“I knew instantly. Put it all together. Ed’s talked nonstop about a woman—she’s in marketing, working with their new ad campaign—who’s been visiting his office. ‘This Denise, she’s something else’ and ‘Denise really knows her stuff’ and ‘we invited Denise to join us for lunch today.’” Emilie’s unfocused gaze looked off into the past, remembering. “And then suddenly he stopped talking about her. I bet you anything that’s when the relationship changed.” She laughed, but once again it was a deformed imitation of her true laugh. Maureen cringed. “After that, I imagine she continued to be invited to lunch, all right. But with only one person in particular. I swear I don’t know whether to cry or scream. And the worst part?” She gave them a beseeching, apologetic look. “I still love him.”

“A part of you always will.” Sherry’s voice was filled with a longing that caught Maureen off guard, and then Sherry met and held Maureen’s gaze. The marks of naked pain were still there, residing in deep shadows around Sherry’s eyes, defined in lines and valleys that would never fully go away. Maureen noted the offering and accepted it, nodding.

The server brought their meals at that point, placing cheery, bright-colored crocks of steaming soups before them and adding a large basket of assorted warm rolls and muffins. As enticing as the array of food looked and smelled, the scene was out of sync with reality.

Once their server was gone, a palpable awkwardness descended over them. Maureen looked around the table, seeking an answer to the unspoken question,
Who would volunteer to pray?
Emilie certainly wouldn’t be expected to—she was the one they needed to pray for. Maureen took in Vanessa’s fussing with her napkin, signaling that she had no intention of venturing into that abyss. And Sherry nonchalantly picked up her spoon and ladled the hot soup, indicating her desire to skip the ritual.

“I suppose we ought to pray,” Maureen offered. Emilie and Sherry avoided her eyes, but Vanessa shot her a look of relieved gratefulness. Maureen closed her eyes and bowed her head, acquiescing. “Lord, I pray now for our friend, Emilie. We love her so much and we … we hurt with our dear friend. Please comfort her, God. And please bring Ed back to you. Back to Emilie and the children. In your name, amen.”

By evading questions or giving barely perceptible, one-word answers, Emilie communicated that she was ready to change the subject. So the three labored to talk about the everyday events of their lives. What was safe. What mattered not at all.

Most uncharacteristically, they soon ran out of things to say.
Everything else seems so trivial in comparison,
thought Maureen—and so they picked at their food, tearing small bites of bread, sipping a little soup. The food grew cold in their lack of hunger and interest, the soup turning bland, the bread growing stale. And then a sense of unspoken agreement guided their friendship as they nearly simultaneously pushed plates aside; it was the signal that they—all but one—needed to be on their separate ways. To the routines that made up their lives. After all the times they had sought distance and escape from the duties they faced, by eating in a quaint little café such as this one, it suddenly struck Vanessa, Sherry, and Maureen that it was the routine itself that made up the very essence of life. Ironically, it was that sameness they all unknowingly craved and clung to for one reason: security. And Emilie, they knew, had been brutally stripped of every bit.

The three of them looked at her, seeking her permission, it appeared, to be dismissed. But Emilie remained lost in her own thoughts, looking stricken as she suddenly took in the reality that never again would look the same for her.

They hugged one another in the parking lot. Emilie responded as if by rote, her senses dulled and her face blank. More than anything else, Emilie’s joyless spirit broke her friends’ hearts. Rarely did they share a time with each other when Emilie’s laugh didn’t ring out through a restaurant or park or the other places they’d gathered. In the past, the loud honking might have embarrassed them, but today they realized how precious it was. An essential thread that wove through their lives, binding them together—one of Emilie’s unique contributions to the Gang of Four. Each felt set adrift without that symbol of joy.

They continued to cling to each other, desperately wanting to do something, anything to help Emilie. They peppered her with suggestions.
Can we bring in meals? Babysit the kids? Contact our pastor—or a lawyer?

But despite their insistence, Emilie said at this point there was nothing she needed or wanted them to do. Besides pray. “And don’t you see?” she pointed out, simply. “It’s cooking, laundry, and even having the kids right there, underfoot, that I need right now. Anything to help keep me busy. Busy enough that I don’t think too much. Or feel too much.”

They reassured her repeatedly of their love and prayers, their desire that Emilie call them tomorrow, emphasizing to call whenever she needed them. Each took a turn pulling her into a firm hug—all but Maureen making a point to look into Emilie’s eyes before parting—and then they sent her on her way.

Vanessa and Maureen spoke little at first as they drove back to the church, both overwhelmed with Emilie’s news, lost in the enormity of it all. Finally Maureen was so uncomfortable with the void that she spoke up, confessing.

“I’ve been so selfish, Vanessa, thinking about my own silly problems when Emilie has this. Did you suspect … did you see it coming?”

“Oh, Maureen. No, not at all, though like I told you—Ed had been bugging me lately. But I doubt that anyone saw this coming.”

“I feel bad about the way we talked about Emilie …”

Vanessa turned to Maureen, shaking her head. “Look, we’re not gonna wallow in guilt, because we didn’t know, did we?”

Maureen agreed, reluctantly. “There’s just one more thing. Yesterday, when I was on the phone with Emilie. I think she was about to tell me … to admit there was dissension or distance or discord … something she was feeling between her and Ed. And I cut her off, Vanessa. I was so caught up in my own problems that I—”

“Maureen, again: You didn’t know. I bet anything yesterday you had no idea what Emilie was going to say on the phone when that happened, did you?” When Maureen didn’t immediately respond, Vanessa pressed her, “Did you?”

“I guess not. Not really.”

“And what did you mean by ‘cut her off’?”

“Oh, the kids were arguing.”

“So you weren’t cutting off Emilie to go watch soaps and eat bon-bons?”

Maureen grinned, sheepishly.

“And I saw your face, Mo, when Emilie told us about Ed. You were just as blown away as Sherry and I.”

Maureen nodded. “Yeah. Oh my gosh, Nessa. It still … I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it, Maureen, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Vanessa turned into the church parking lot, pulled into the space next to Maureen’s van. She turned to face Maureen, reached over to take her hand. “The only one who could’ve stopped this—how I wish I were a cussing woman at times like this—this you-know-what from happening to Emilie was Ed himself.”

“Ed. How could he? Talk about making no sense. After all these years … all they’ve been through together. How could he just throw it all away?”

“The kids. Doesn’t your heart just break for them? What does this say to them? About God?”

They reached out to each other, clasping in a hug of desperation. When they finally pulled apart, Vanessa stared off into the distance, wistfully asking, “All those years ago when we first met, could we ever have envisioned that—that any of our lives would’ve taken the paths that we’ve been down?”

Maureen thought of Sherry … and now Emilie. But she also heard Colleen’s strident accusation, and the pain of it was fresh again, causing her to wince. “No, I wouldn’t. Never.”
Colleen.
Maureen jumped as though startled from a daydream. “What time is it? If I’m late picking up Colleen—”

“What? She’ll stop speaking to you? With teens, that could be a definite plus—” Vanessa stopped, seeing the very real look of panic on Maureen’s face.

“Oh no, it’s two thirty already. I have to run.”

“Maureen? We’ll get through this. The three of us will get Emilie through this.”

Maureen nodded. But the hand she used to open her door was shaking.

When Bill walked in the door later, Maureen moved immediately into his arms, only able to say, “Oh, Bill. You just won’t believe it.”

Alarmed, he held her out from him, searching her face, asking, “What? What’s happened? Are the kids—?”

Maureen quickly put a finger to her lips, gesturing toward Aubrey. “Shh. The kids are fine.” With a nod toward the hallway, she beckoned for Bill to follow her.

They nearly ran right into Colleen standing in her bedroom’s doorway, shooting Maureen an accusatory glare. “The Estebans are getting a divorce, aren’t they,” Colleen said. A statement, not a question.

Bill looked over at Maureen, his expression obviously asking if it were true. She merely shook her head slightly.

“How did you—?” Bill questioned Colleen.

“Eddie. He told me about the other woman a month ago.” Noting Maureen’s shocked response, Colleen added, “You mean Mrs. Esteban didn’t know this was coming before today? She didn’t catch on?” Colleen rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe she was dumb enough to—”

“Colleen, that’s quite enough.” Bill’s sharp correction silenced her immediately. “Don’t you have homework to do? Then get busy on it.” Colleen obeyed, but as she turned to go back into her room she shot her mother an accusing look.